I Swear You Will Be Fine

Dear Josh,

I won’t write about your birthday because your family already has. Instead, I’ll write about after. I thought your birthday this year went better than last year. I mean, we are now more acclimatized to grief so I assume we were able to regulate our feelings and thoughts better. I guess the wound wasn’t as fresh as it was last year. It was still sad of course, when we were participating in the cake and balloon activities, but it was expected and manageable. I only thought I would be able to hold the sadness in, but I was quite wrong. Even before it was my turn to stick my note for you in the cake, I was already crying listening to your mum and sister. When it was my turn, I felt like I couldn’t even get the words out or my voice would crack… I ended up speaking softer than I wanted to. Releasing the balloons was nice though. It was sad, but this time I was able to tie my note to the balloon on my own, release it AND watch it float away without tears blocking my vision. I was able to “enjoy” sending my note to you. I watched until all the balloons floated out of sight. I felt better about being able to regulate myself and express my love.

Anyway, apart from bits of expected sadness, the day went pretty well. Throughout the day, I even found myself feeling sad that the day was coming to an end. I was dreading your birthday because I envisioned a lot of sadness and regret, but when the actual day came, I was kind of happy that we had a full day to actively think and speak of you.

That’s how it always is though – the weeks leading up to an event is dreadful and emotional, but the actual day is better than expected. Based on our experiences so far, it was going to be a low, high, low pattern – the days before would be bad, the actual day would be fine, and the days after would be bad again. It was like on the actual day we’d ride the high of the day and distractions, and plummet the next day.

This year, because I knew your mum and sister were going away on the 26^th, I had to busy myself in advance. I booked myself a Spin class in the afternoon of the 26th so that I’d have something to do and “look forward” to. It was a themed class too – an Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift class – so I knew I would enjoy it, and I did. Well, not enjoy as in feeling properly happy, but it was nice and the distraction worked. It was the only class I’d been to so far where I knew all the songs. Whilst riding the bike, I almost laughed out loud thinking about how you would have made fun of me for doing this Taylor Swift class. My dad drove me there, waited for me, and we had Mala together for lunch! I was so surprised he wanted to have Mala because he had never liked it. Was that you? Did you nudge him towards one of my favorite foods to make me feel better?

Actually, I was more concerned about the night of the 25^th. Your mum and sister very kindly drove me home but I did feel sad knowing that I wouldn’t be able to see them both for a while. As we neared my place, I started feeling nervous because I knew that the crash (of my mood) was waiting for me the minute I walked into my empty room… but it didn’t come. I actually felt satisfied that the day went well and that we got to celebrate you. There was no sobbing or intense grief. There was sadness, but it was a “nice” kind of sadness where I just missed you. Was that you helping me out too?

I think I might have reached the stage where I can miss you without feeling that intense, inescapable sadness. I know I’ve said this before – it’s like every few months I say something like “I’ve reached this stage where…” and I end up not staying in that stage for long. I bounce from being a regulated person with healthy thoughts to absolute sadness – but in school, we learn that that’s also a sign of progress. So… yay?

At this point, in this moment, on this day, I am feeling alright. I am sad, I miss you, I wish you were here, but I am okay. I can miss you and feel joy. I can celebrate your life and you without being consumed by thoughts like “you SHOULD be here”. Thinking thoughts like that take away the time and space that could be spent thinking about you and the life you lived. Yes, you should be here, and that would have been great, but you are happy now and harping on what could have been only tortures us and taints the life you lived. You are more than “what could have been” and what happened, and we should acknowledge that more.

I can’t wait to see you again (bringing this back; I like this line better). I’ll love you forever and I’ll like you for always – more than you can ever imagine. (This ending line is growing on me; I hope you like it too)

Love always,
Sha